Dishonor Roll
by Vicki and Teazer
Summary: Someone's out to steal the five thousand dollar award to X Middle School for having the most kids registered in honor roll in the district. Please RR! As of 1123 Dishonor Roll is complete!
1. Chapter One

I don't own anything of which this fic is based on, but the villains in the story belong to me.

Chapter One: "Honor Roll Awards Are Delayed By the Theft"

*****

            It was dark. The boy entered the room, feeling the cold as it hit him like a hammer. The pitch-black of the shack caused him to blink, trying to focus on the figure in front of him. He knew that the figure could see him—even if he couldn't see the figure. "Master?"

            "I know something you can do for me, Smith."

            Smith groped around him for the wooden chair that had been placed in front of his master's desk. When he found it, he shakily lowered himself down, trembling in fear and anxiety. "I'm listening."

            A small light flickered on above him, produced from a single bare light bulb. Smith noticed that his hands were clasped together tightly, knuckles white. He could see the full outline of his master in front of him, seated across from him in a large wooden desk. "You know that there are three times as many honor roll students as there were last year, Smith."

            "Y-yes."

            "The school also has the most honor roll students out of every school in the district. And you _do _know that the superintendent presents five thousand dollars in cash to the school with the most honor roll students to use on school supplies, am I right?"

            "Yes," Smith repeated, even though he only just found out now.

            "Our club also needs the money. On Wednesday the school receives all the bumper stickers. We send our best agents out to steal them to cause a mild diversion which should be enough for us to have time to find out the combination of the school safe in the office and steal the money."

            "All of it?"

            "Every single penny."

            "Are you sure that our club can pull off something like that?" Smith blurted, then realized to late that he had said wrong thing.

            There was silence. Then he could see his master lift himself off of his chair and stride over to him. Smith could catch glimpses of the kid's features, making him tremble even more. His master leaned over and hissed in his ear: "_They don't call me Sticky Fingers for nothin'._" 

            And with a soft _click _the light went out.

*****

            It was a warm Wednesday morning at school and all of the Safety Officers were hard at work. Ingrid Third was analyzing the student's files on her computer at her desk. Next to her officer Cornelius Fillmore was sorting records into an accordion folder. Each record had information about a certain student who had recently committed a crime at school, and this had to be the most boring job Fillmore could ever imagine being assigned to.      

            "Hey! Hey guys!"

            Fillmore let out a low groan as Danny O'Farrell came bursting into the HQ. Setting his files down on his desk, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and clapped a hand to his forehead. "What is it, O'Farrell?"

            O'Farrell waved a sheet of computer paper over his head excitedly, bounding over to Fillmore's desk. "Look! It's the list of honor roll students!" he announced, shoving the paper at Fillmore. Fillmore smoothed the paper out on his desk and raised an eyebrow. "You got on honor roll?"

            "Well, yeah!" O'Farrell replied happily. "Last year, I failed cooking! But now that I've been working for the yearbook, I'm on a roll! Honor roll, that is! Ha ha ha…"

            "That was lame, O'Farrell," Fillmore muttered dully. O'Farrell simply shrugged and spun around some more, reading the rest of the list by holding it high above his head.

            Ingrid spun her chair away from her desk briefly and leaned over toward Fillmore. "You do know _why _he failed cooking, don't you?" she whispered.

            "No," Fillmore admitted. "Why?"

            "Because during the exams when the cooking teacher sampled one of his buffalo wings, it kind of…leaked."

            "Dawg, that's _nasty._"

            Ingrid spun her chair back around to face the computer again, then let out a small squeak of surprise as she found O'Farrell's copy of the honor roll list being shoved at her face.

            "Look, Ingrid! You made the list, too!"

            Thoroughly annoyed by now, Ingrid viciously ripped the list from O'Farrell's grasp, crumpled it up, squashed it with her fist and sent it flying into the wastebasket. "Do something like that again and the same thing happens to you, am I clear?"

            O'Farrell gulped.

            Just then Principal Volson's voice sounded from the loudspeakers. "Will all honor roll students please come to the office to receive their certificates and bumper stickers. Thank you." _Click._

            O'Farrell bounced excitedly out the door, making many of the officers in the room want to vomit because of his enthusiasm. Ingrid reluctantly rose from her desk and followed. 

            After the two of them had left, the normal chatter filled the room once more as the officers went about their business. Feeling completely bored as he had nothing he actually wanted to do, Fillmore propped his feet up on his desk and played with his pencil, waiting for his favorite colleague to return.

            Suddenly the door swung open and in walked Jr. Commissioner Vallejo. Vallejo had a rep for being strict and living to keep things neat and in order. No one liked getting in trouble with the junior commissioner. 

            "All right," Vallejo barked. "I want to see everybody working on _something. _Anza, quit stalling. Fillmore, get your shoes off your desk. I know where you go wearing 'em and I'm not going to let 'em get anywhere close to my hand-polished mahogany tabletops!"

*****

            Ingrid strode down the main hall to the office, on her way to gather her awards. Her plan was to get there first, take her certificate, and leave before any of the honor roll students had a chance to make a big speech about how much he/she loves the school and how he/she thanks their favorite teacher and all that jazz.

            When she arrived, she had expected to be greeted by the sight of all of the disgustingly happy middle schoolers raving about their point average and wondering what they're going to use to frame their certificates (_A/N: A picture frame, DUH!_). What she saw instead surprised her.

            The hall was overflowing with students of all ages and grades moping around and acting very upset. Several of them had burst into hysterical sobs. You didn't even have to be a safety patrol officer to realize that something had gone horribly wrong.

            Ingrid pulled over a random student and questioned her. "Excuse me, but could you please tell me your name?"

            It was a girl with dark brown hair adorned with a large blue coat. Her eyes were red from crying and Ingrid could see traces of tears that had rolled down her cheeks. "Linda Wincoff," she answered softly. 

            Ingrid snapped open her wallet and showed Linda her badge and ID. "Ingrid Third, Safety Patrol Officer. Would you mind telling me what has happened here?"

            Linda sniffed, a pained, saddened look upon her face. "I couldn't believe it," she blubbered. "Some…some IDIOT stole all of the awards! Now none of us will have anything to show our parents and…and…THEY WON'T BE PROUD OF US ANYMORE!!!"

            Ingrid allowed the girl to sob for about a full minute, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder in an effort to calm her down so that she could get more details. Finally, the witness removed a wadded-up, wrinkled handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. "Then whoever it was left _this _in the package that had had all of the bumper stickers in them. Principal Volson just found it…"

            The Safety Patrol officer waited patiently as the girl rummaged through her coat pocket. Linda finally removed two sheets of torn paper and handed them to Ingrid.

            You could practically see the gears in Ingrid's head turning as she matched up the torn edges on both pieces of paper. "Crackers," she murmured in a slightly amused tone. "There must be some sort of coded message inscribed on this paper."

            "Really?" the other teen asked excitedly. "What does it say? What does it say?!"

            "Unless I am very much mistaken," Ingrid said slowly, "it says something along the lines of…" She paused for dramatic effect, making Linda look hopeful. Suddenly she spat out, " 'My Child is an Honor Roll Student at X Middle School!' It's just a ripped bumper sticker! Is this some kind of joke, soapsuds?!"

            The girl's bottom lip quivered. "No! I j-just—"

            "You know, as far as I'm concerned a ripped bumper sticker doesn't mean anything! For all we know it could've been ripped when it got here!"

            "You don't understand!" Linda wailed. "It's some sort of threat."

            Ingrid raised an eyebrow in honest confusement. "A threat?"

            "Yes!" Linda answered. "It's the worst offense against an honor roll student that anyone can ever imagine."

            "Huh." Ingrid rolled her eyes up heavenward. "I'm guessing it's right up there with crawling through someone's window at night and murdering them in cold blood, am I right?"

            "Yeah, that's about it."

            Ingrid sighed. "I'll take this up to the HQ. We'll do our best to find out who did it."

            "Thank you officer."

            Ingrid left the scene and headed back up the staircase, ready to report what had happened to Jr. Commissioner Vallejo. _Maybe I should be proud to be on the honor roll, _she thought to herself, _but I'm already proud enough not to be someone like Linda Wincoff._

*****

End of Chapter One.

A/N: Well, that's chapter one for now. And I apologize for completely exaggerating the reaction from all of the honor roll students about the whole ripped bumper sticker thing…but, you know that in the REAL show they exaggerate everything. So, sue me if I wanna make this episode as "real" as possible. No, really, don't, I put the disclaimer up there…

**~Teaz**


	2. Chapter Two

Okay, here's the second chapter. Again, I do not own Fillmore but I do own this fanfic and its plot. Also, I apologize to Just a Hint for getting Principal FOLSOM's name wrong—I'm a very new Fillmore fan, so I'm not exactly an expert on the names of the secondary characters yet. 

Chapter Two: "Temporary Loss of a Special Ability"

*****

            Fillmore had just proper his feet up again as he watched Vallejo lecture Joseph about leaving his coffee cup on his desk. "It's leaves rings on the tabletops!" Vallejo snapped. "You've been making a mess of the place all week, Anza! One more false move and I'm having you demoted! And Fillmore, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT THE SHOES?!?!"

            The two boys muttered to themselves as Joseph tossed his coffee cup and Fillmore let his feet drop back to the floor. Just then the door swung open wide and bounced lightly off the wall as Ingrid entered and made a beeline for Fillmore's desk. Unfortunately, Vallejo had seen it all and came marching angrily toward her. 

            "Third!" he shouted. "If you just go around THROWING OPEN all of the doors they will hit and scratch up the walls! We aren't going to risk ruining school property anymore! We're already in enough trouble as it is." While he said this he seemed to be looking directly at Fillmore, who immediately averted his gaze.

            "Uhh…what's his problem?" Ingrid asked her partner as Vallejo stormed into his office and shut the door behind him.

            "I dunno," Fillmore replied. "He's probably either under a lot of stress, or he's going through a sudden territorial phase over all of his tabletops. Take your pick."

            Ingrid rolled her eyes. "I've just talked to this girl named Linda Wincoff," she informed Fillmore. "Apparently someone has stolen all of the bumper stickers that were supposed to be given out with the rest of the awards today. Now all of the honor roll students are afraid that their parents won't be proud of them anymore…"

            "Snap, those kids need to get out more often."

            "…but I told Linda that I would take the case up to the Safety Patrol so that we can find out who took them and get them back. She showed me this bumper sticker that had been ripped in half and told me that it was a threat to all of the honor roll students at X Middle School."

            "Huh?"

            "It's supposed to be the highest offense against an honor roll student," Ingrid explained. "Quite surprisingly, I'm not worried at all about it. Anyway, what I've made out of this was that it could've been someone from another school in the district who was upset that X was going to get the five thousand dollars from the superintendent."

            "Now, let's not jump to conclusions," Fillmore said strictly. "We need some more evidence in order to find the real person behind the theft. Without evidence we can't go around making crazy assumptions."

            "Well, at least it's reasonable," Ingrid argued. "And I can't even tell you how many times you've made crazy assumptions while trying to solve a case."

            "Oh really? Name one time," Fillmore challenged her.

            "There _was _that time when all of the library books were stolen, and then there was the time when—"

            "Okay, that's enough," Fillmore interrupted, sounding quite eager to change the subject. "Let's get to business."

            The two officers exited the HQ, Ingrid with her backpack slung over her shoulder and Fillmore with the walkie-talkies in hand.

*****

            The huge crowd of honor roll students remained surrounding the office, the constant chatter of the worried students filling the hallways. Only one of them didn't seem as horror-struck as the others. It was a young teenage boy, short with white-blonde hair, and he slowly made his way out of the wall of students. He jogged down the main hall, completely unnoticed by anyone. At the first left he turned and headed down a long row of lockers, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone. The boy ducked into the utility closet, closed the door, and removed a small, compact walkie-talkie from his pocket. "The plan has been running smoothly, master."

            "Good work, Smith," came the voice of Sticky Fingers. "Have you gotten the safe combination?"

            "Yessir. I wrote it down on the back of the social studies test I got back today."

            "What grade did you get on it?"

            "D plus."

            "You never were honor roll material, Smith. Anyway, meet me back behind the school in ten and we'll take it up to the clubhouse. Someday within the next two weeks X Middle School will be awarded the money and it will be put in the safe. We're going to be ready this time. I'll be waiting for you at the clubhouse, Smith."

            "Roger that. Over and out."

            Smith pocketed his walkie-talkie, then opened the door of the closet and glanced cautiously out into the hallway. Once confident that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the closet and jogged past the rest of the lockers, then out the swinging doors and across to the blacktop behind the school. What he didn't notice was his social studies test falling out of his back pocket just before he entered the hallway. What he also didn't notice was officers Cornelius Fillmore and Ingrid Third walking across the tiled floor just before he left the school, examining everything within their range expertly and about three yards away from the utility closet.

*****  
  


            Fillmore turned to his partner. "We need to comb the entire area for clues," he informed her. "We'll need to spread out if we want to find something that can lead us to the bumper stickers. You go check the lockers, and I'll take a look in the utility closet. Believe me, you can hide _anything _in the utility closet," he added when Ingrid raised a critical eyebrow. Ingrid then nodded and the two of them went in their opposite ways.

            When Fillmore approached the utility closet the first thing he noticed was that the door was open partway. Taking a quick mental note, the teen opened the door the rest of the way and turned on the overhead light inside. He reached for the nearest box and began to paw through it, but before he could reach the bottom he felt himself kneeling down on not a bare, cold floor, but on top of a piece of paper. Sliding back about a foot, Fillmore picked up the paper and turned it over. Scrawled onto the paper were the numbers 7, 13, 22, 9, and 16. Turning it over again, he saw that the paper was last week's seventh grade social studies test, covered in red marks and at the top a large red D+. Next to the D+ was the name Jared Smith.

            "Disco," Fillmore muttered in satisfaction. Getting up to his feet, Fillmore stepped outside the closet and called for his partner. "Ingrid! I found something over here, and I need you to take a look at it!"

            Ingrid rushed to his side in an instant and Fillmore handed her the paper, showing her the back of it first. "Hm," she mused. "They look like numbers that you might use on a combination lock. Do you think that it might unlock someone's locker?"

            "Maybe," Fillmore replied, "but check this out." He flipped the paper over and jabbed a finger at the name. "What do you know about him?"

            "Jared Smith," Ingrid murmured thoughtfully. "Seventh grader, B or C average…I think…blonde hair, and he takes social studies at period…" Ingrid began to squint her eyes in frustration and touched the tips of her fingers to her temples, obviously thinking hard. She thought to herself for a few more seconds, then dropped her arms back to her sides in dismay. "Crackers," she moaned. "It's really weird, but…I can't remember…" She immediately looked ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry Fillmore…I should be of more help, but…"

            Fillmore patted her shoulder forgivingly. "It's okay, Ingrid. Everyone has an off day at one point. The only thing we need to do now is do a little bit of research and we can question him tomorrow. We'll head back to the HQ and check out the school records. Don't worry about it," Fillmore added as Ingrid continued to look ashamed and embarrassed. "We can figure this out with or without your photographic memory."

            Ingrid looked up at her partner and grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Fillmore."

            "No problem. Now, let's go and crack this case! You with me?"

            "You bet." The two of them both held out their fists, tapped their knuckles in a friendship salute, and were on their way back to the HQ. 

*****

End of Chapter Two

A/N: I think that this chapter was better written than the first one, despite its shorter length. I'm beginning to like the relationship between Fillmore and Ingrid better—I like how they're always loyal to each other. 

And yes, I KNOW that Ingrid doesn't _really _raise an eyebrow, cuz she doesn't have any. One eye just gets smaller and the other eye just gets…bigger. I wonder why I brought that up even though I knew that was the LAST thing on your mind anyway, cuz that was just a kind of out-of-the-blue subject, and…

Okay, I can tell that I'm boring you now even if you even BOTHER to read these author notes thingees, so I'll go now. Buh-bye.

~Teaz

P.S.: Yes, I am aware that the name of the chapter sucks. I'm not creative at all when it comes to naming my chapters, so just consider the names little experiments of mine in an attempt to boost my creative-ness. Ok, _now _I'm done.


	3. Chapter Three

Thanks to Boo for reviewing the second chapter! I'll try to keep this story going in the best way possible, so keep checking back for new chapters. Anyway, since I've already put in two disclaimers I don't really have anything else to say for now…

*****

            Fillmore and Ingrid burst into the HQ minutes later, being careful not to let the door hit the wall again. The first thing they saw was Vallejo standing at Karen's desk; he had obviously not noticed that the two had returned, as they figured out by listening to the conversation.

            "Tehama, I need you to give the forensics a rest and get at Third's computer," Vallejo was saying. "As long as they're not here I need someone to cover for them."

            "But Vallejo," Karen protested, "the forensics are part of my _job._"

            "The forensics are going to have to wait!" Vallejo barked. "Get over to that computer and _work!_"

            Karen's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. Vallejo never usually snapped at people like that. She hurriedly gathered her bag and paper and walked over to seat herself at the computer, not wanting to cause any more friction between herself and Vallejo.

            Fillmore and Ingrid exchanged glances, then walked up to confront Vallejo. "Hey, Vallejo," Fillmore said. "I need to ask you something."

            The eighth grader spun around to face him. "Ah, you're back," he said, sounding quite relieved. He called across the room to Karen. "Hey, Tehama, you can forget about it now and go back to your forensics thing again."

            Scowling, Karen strode silently back to her desk, casting a murderous glare at Vallejo before sitting down heavily in her chair.

            "Vallejo," Fillmore began again firmly, "we want to know why you've been acting like this."

            A slightly annoyed look overcame Vallejo's face. "Acting like what?"

            "Like a total jerk." Joseph came up from behind Fillmore and Ingrid. "Coffee rings on the tabletops? You never would've thrown a fit about something like that before."

            "You haven't been yourself today," O'Farrell piped up. "You're so uptight!"

            "Yeah, Vallejo. Tell us what's going on," Karen demanded.

            The room became alive with all of the officers talking at once and demanding that he tell them what was wrong. Finally Vallejo threw his arms up in the air in defeat. "_All right already!" _he shouted. "I was talking to Folsom this morning…"

            The middle school teens were suddenly quiet. All bad news began with the name Folsom.

            Solemnly, Vallejo continued to explain. "She said that she'd had enough with all of the school equipment being broken on our account. Folsom gave me a long lecture about how I need to keep all of you in line and make sure that you were doing your jobs right. I kept trying to tell her that it was all under control, but she wouldn't listen…you know how it is when you try to get something through to her. Anyway, she said that I had to do whatever it would take, even if it meant following you around wherever you went with an electric cattle prod. 

            "Then right after Third and O'Farrell left, I got a call from Folsom about the stolen bumper stickers. She was _really _steamed by now. She told me that if we didn't recover every single bumper sticker by the end of the month, we would literally lose our jobs and the HQ would either be torn down or become a meeting place for the Quilting Club."

            All of the officers exchanged horrified glances amongst themselves. This was the first threat from the principal regarding the demolishment of the HQ that had actually worried them in a long time. This is what Vallejo had been keeping from them all morning, but now that the truth was out, they all knew what they had to do: solve the case.

*****

            Jared Smith jogged around the school building with confident strides. He could imagine all the praise he would receive for all of his work this time, possibly even a promotion. Basically, all Smith wanted to do was get on the boss's good side, because he's seen what happens when you didn't…but he didn't have to worry about that now. Soon, once the school has been awarded the money, the safe under the lobster picture behind Folsom's desk would be unlocked again and the money would belong to the club.

            Ducking into the shadows, Smith inched along the red brick wall until he came to the south wall of the rose maze. Cautiously approaching the thorny wall of flowers, he hissed, "Sticky, I've got the goods."

            Unnoticed to Smith, a tall shadow cast over him while he had his back turned. The shadow's large hand reached for his small shoulder, moving slowly and silently. Smith continued to whisper for his master, pushing apart the tangled mass of leaves and brush. Suddenly, the hand shot forward and grasped Smith's shoulder roughly, then forced him to spin around and pressed him against the wall of sharp thorns.

            The boy let out a terrified screech as a sharp pain began to spread through his body. He was now staring straight into the mug of the one and only Sticky Fingers. It was very rare to catch him in the light, where you could determine most of his features. The boy's hair was an auburn brown, and the sun's brightness glinted off his metal braces. "You have the combination, Smith." It was more of an expectant statement rather than a question.

            Whimpering, Smith managed to glance down at his right hand despite the fact that he was being pinned against the floral maze. A thorn was embedded in his knuckle, blood trickling down his wrist. Squinting in pain, Smith replied, "Yessir. I found it taped to the inside of Folsom's pencil cup, so I took out my last social studies test and wrote it down when I could, sir."

            "Good work, Smith," Sticky Fingers drawled with a slight tone of satisfaction in his voice. Suddenly he sounded firm again. "Then I want proof. Show me the combination, Smith, and let me know you have it."

            Smith reached behind him with his good hand and dug into his back pocket, entirely sure that he was going to please his master this time. But after the few seconds in which Sticky Fingers had waited impatiently, Smith's face suddenly paled. Removing his hand, he slowly revealed his empty palm. "It's…it's not there," he stammered disbelievingly. "I was sure of it…please, Sticky--! No!"

            Sticky Fingers' fist collided with Smith's face almost instantly. There was the loud crackle of brittle branches as Smith fell into them once more before falling to the grassy ground. Sticky Fingers towered above him, a look of disgust upon his face. "I thought you were ready for this, Smith," he growled. "I should have never assumed something that impossible."

*****

End of Chapter Three

A/N: Yes, that was kinda short. I know it took me a while before updating, but I've been kind of busy with school and Vic and I have been going to rehearsals for the school musical. Not much time for fanfiction. Anyway, I hope that you liked that chapter. I'll keep working on it while I can. = 0 )

~Teaz


	4. Chapter Four

Okay, here's chapter four. Thanks for all of you readers (whoever you may be) for sticking with me while I write this fic. As you probably have guessed already, it isn't going to be one of those fics with only three acts, as they have to format the actual show like that just to cut it down to only a half hour. Also, I should probably point out that this entire fic takes place over the course of February. BAD author for not pointing that out before! BAD BAD BAD! Anyway, you have my permission now to read on.

*****

            Ingrid slid back into her chair at her computer and immediately logged in to search for Smith's files. Fillmore rushed to her aide and stood over her, looking over her shoulder and watching her get to work. When she finally found his file, she read:

            "Jared Smith. He takes social studies in period three in room six." Ingrid glanced up at Fillmore, sounding slightly disappointed. "His record is clean, though, and he apparently has an A/B average, so I guess I was wrong before…"

            "We'll have to interrogate him tomorrow," Fillmore decided. "We should catch him in class so that he doesn't try to bolt or do anything stupid." He stared at the picture of Smith on the computer screen. _Well, Jared, _he thought, _by this time we have questions to ask, and we know that you have some answers._

            Karen approached the two, holding on firmly to a small plastic bag holding Linda's ripped bumper sticker in one hand. "There were some fingerprints," she informed them, sounding discouraged. "But they don't belong to anyone who goes to this school. Someone must be getting some help from a student off-campus."

            "That's okay, Tehama," Fillmore replied. "We think we've found someone who might have something to tell us."

            Karen walked around to the other side of the desk and peered over Ingrid's shoulder. "You mean Smith? _That _twitchy little dork? I don't think so, guys. He's in my Phys. Ed class and he just doesn't seem capable of doing anything like steal all of those bumper stickers."

            "We found his social studies test in the utility closet," Ingrid explained. "On the back of the test were the numbers 7, 13, 22, 9 and 16. We think that it might be the combination for somebody's locker."

            "So you think that if you can find the locker and open it using the combination all of the bumper stickers will come spewing out into the halls?"

            "We're not sure," Fillmore admitted. "That's why we need to get hold of Smith in class and take him in for interrogation. He obviously knows what that combo can lead us to."

*****

            Smith slammed his locker closed after removing his books, only to be reminded by a searing pain coming from his knuckles of the incident that had happened only hours earlier. A scar ran along his bony knuckle, dried blood forming a dark red crust over it. Sticky Fingers' words rang through his ears as he stared at the ugly blemish. _I should have never assumed something that impossible. _

            It bothered Smith. No matter how much he had tried to please his master, he would learn to hate him more and more every day. But why would he continue to serve the wretched teen? Because he was too afraid not to. And why wouldn't he just stop working for him? Because he had feared the punishment that would have been laid before him. 

            But why the need to worry now? Smith had most certainly been fired already (not that he had intended to return to the clubhouse before). He had experienced watching other members of the club who had obeyed their leader get punished before. It was probably the most complex way of torture among all clubs within the states, and the most horrible. Everyone feared and hated the device that Sticky Fingers used, but as Smith wasn't part of the club anymore, what did he _have _to fear?

            Already he knew the answer. If he were to rat out Sticky's plan to steal the school's five thousand dollar earnings, _that _was what he had to fear. His former leader would be after his blood, and before long it would be a few days stuck to the torture device as an end result. He knew that Sticky Fingers was going to be watching him from now on. He wasn't safe. He wasn't going to be safe until the money is stolen. 

            Half-heartedly the seventh grader gathered his things and headed for fourth period, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket so as not to draw attention to himself. He was just about to turn the corner when suddenly he felt a tug at his jacket. He spun around to face Sticky Fingers' second-in-command, Scissorblade, who shoved a slip of paper and a blue stencil at his face. "This is your last mission, Smith," Scissorblade sneered. "Even you couldn't mess this up. The boss wants you to write, 'Give up while you still can' and slip it under their door to motivate them to keep looking for the bumper stickers while the rest of us _intelligent _ones can get the combination again. But once you're done, then that's it—you're out of the club."

            "Right." Smith fumbled with the stencil and paper, removed a pen from his pocket, then began tracing the letters onto the paper using the wall as a hard surface to write on. 

            "And he says that you can't tell anyone anything about the club's plan, or else he'll take you into the chambers."

            "That's what I figured," Smith replied, finishing the note and folding the paper twice. "He'll be watching me, will he?"

            "Yep."

            Smith turned around and began walking in the opposite direction towards the Safety Patrol Headquarters to deliver the note. He could practically feel Scissorblade's sneer bearing down on him as he had his back turned.

*****

End of Chapter Four

A/N: Yes, that was short. Yes, that didn't contribute much to the plot. Yes, I'm just about to type up chapter five, so this ending won't seem as awkward as it is right now…I just decided to end the chapter here because I thought it would look better somehow if I continued in the next, and the transition wouldn't be so sudden when I switch back to the Safety Patrol POV. God, I need to stop doing that…switching back and forth from F/I to Smith. But I'll work on it, I promise.


	5. Chapter Five

Not much to say, really. Just read and tell me what you think, okay?

*****

Ingrid strode over to the door just in time to catch sight of a slip of paper fluttering under the door. Suspiciously she picked it up between her fingers and unfolded it. Inscribed on the paper was:

            GIVE UP SEARCH WHILE YOU STILL CAN. YOU'LL NEVER FIND THE BUMPER STICKERS IN THIS LIFETIME.

            "Fillmore, look at this!"

            Her partner came to her side immediately. "What's that?" Fillmore questioned.

            "It's a note that someone just slid under the door," Ingrid answered. "It looks like they used a stencil to disguise their handwriting."

            "But if they just slid it under the door," Fillmore said suddenly, "then that means that they're still close by." He swiftly grasped the doorknob, twisted it and swung the door open.

            Someone from the other side of the door yipped as it was flung ajar and the bag he was holding crashed to the ground, coming open and spilling its contents. The two Safety Patrol officers stared as the white-blonde haired kid fell back and began gathering his supplies hurriedly.

            "Hey," said Fillmore, "did you just slide this under our door?"

            "I…I, uh…" The boy's mind seemed to be racing with excuses as he tried to explain the reason why he had been sneaking the halls right on the other side of their door. "I…what I mean to say is…I gotta go!" And he slung his pack over his shoulder and bolted.

            Fillmore sputtered with rage as he watched Smith's retreating back. "Get back here! Ingrid, let's move!" he commanded before chasing after the culprit.

            But Ingrid didn't make any attempt to follow him. Instead she stooped down to the ground and picked out a blue plastic stencil from the rubble that were spread across the tiled floors. No matter what that kid said, they now had proof that he was the one who had written the note. And, if her now functioning photographic memory was correct, that was the exact same student as the one in the picture in Jared Smith's files.

*****

            Now halfway through the school building, Fillmore, who remained in hot pursuit, noticed that he wasn't being accompanied by his partner. No matter. He knew that the kid was leading him towards a dead end in the Cafetorium, and with that information he whipped his Chatmaster3000 out of his pocket and flipped it on. "Ingrid!" he barked. "Where are you? I need backup, pronto."

            "I'm on it, Fillmore," Ingrid replied. "He _did _write that note. I found the stencil that he used with the rest of the stuff that he dropped, and it _is _Jared Smith you're chasing. Where are you?"

            "He's taking me straight to the Cafetorium. Send as many people as you can to help. Believe me, he's not planning on giving up any time soon!" Fillmore panted with exhaustion as he ducked into the Cafetorium after Smith, who crossed the room quickly and was just about to reach the opposite door when—

            _Slam!_ Joseph Anza kicked the door open just as Smith reached for the handle. "End of the line, _Jared._"

            Ingrid came up behind Joseph, flipping her Chatmaster off. "Told you I was on it," she said, smirking at Smith. "You know, we were _going _to wait until tomorrow for a proper interrogation, but I _guess _we can fit you in for today on such short notice."

            Karen and O'Farrell entered through the same door, each taking hold of one of Jared's arms. "We're going to ask you to come with us, Jack," O'Farrell informed him, making his best attempt to sound tough.

            "Uh…it's Jared."

            "Aw, whatever."

*****

            "Come on, Jared. We know that you were the one who wrote the note, and we know that you are involved with the missing bumper stickers."

            Jared trembled in his seat on the other side of the table. The interrogation room was an intimidating environment; he knew that he was going to end  up spilling the beans at one point. "I…I wasn't involved! Besides, you don't have any proof that I'm involved with any bumper sticker heist!"

            "Must I point out that you delivered a threatening note to the Safety Patrol about the bumper stickers, ran when Fillmore asked you if you did, and now you're here in our interrogation room making lame excuses to try to worm your way out of this mess?" Ingrid inquired irritably. 

            "Well, _besides _that…"

            "Listen, Jared," Fillmore continued firmly. "There are hundreds of kids out there who aren't getting rewarded for their hard work in school. Tell us where the bumper stickers are, man. Those kids deserve them."

            Ingrid snorted, causing Fillmore to shoot a dangerous look in her direction.

            "I'm tellin' ya, I'm not involved!" Smith insisted, beginning to sweat heavily. "I didn't do anything to land myself in here, you people are just wasting your time, and I…I want out! Now!"

            The two officers watched as the boy leapt from his chair and began running laps around the interrogation room. Ingrid made a move to go after him, but Fillmore held her back. "This has happened too many times before," he informed her. "Just watch. He'll stop when he's ready."

            Smith continued to sprint around the table. Then, spotting the large window at the back wall and seeming to see it as a way out, he made a mad dash for it. He came crashing against the window and crumpled to the floor.

            Ingrid blinked. "Wow. That was…wow."

            "You'll get used to it," Fillmore assured her. He strode over to the window and helped Smith back up. "Just get 'em back on their feet and send 'em to the nurse. Anyway, we're not going to get anything out of him…yet. But he'll talk when he's ready, I can tell you that."

            "It's not about the bumper stickers."

            Fillmore quickly looked down at Smith. "What did you say?"

            "It's not about the bumper stickers," Smith repeated dizzily, seeming only semiconscious. "They want…" But he didn't finish before passing out again.

            Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "Looks like someone's trying to lead us in the wrong direction," she concluded.

*****

End of chapter five.

A/N: I don't think that that was the most well written chapter ever. Kind of a lame ending, but oh well. I still have plans for this fic. 


	6. Chapter Six

3/13: Yes, it's been taking me a while to update, but I've just been recovering from a bout of writer's block so I apologize for that. Shout-out to my supportive friends, including the one I haven't seen in ages and with whom I'm going to the pool with this afternoon ::happy dance:: .  
  
*****  
  
Smith's eyes slid open slowly and he wearily examined his surroundings. By the looks of it, he was lying on his back on a futon in the nurse's office. He jerked upright in a panic. The only reason why he had tried to escape through the window because of his hopes of dying when he hit it so that he could tell the officers about the heist and he wouldn't get killed afterward by Sticky Fingers. But since he was alive after all, he was now gravely in danger.  
  
Smith slid back down onto the futon and clasped down on his face with his hands. He had never been so disappointed to be alive in his entire life.  
  
*****  
  
Joseph peered through the window of the nurses' office and into the patient's room. He watched as Smith fell back onto the futon and grasped his hair angrily, tugging at it and attempting to rip it out. Joseph switched on his Chatmaster and radioed in Fillmore and Ingrid. "Well, they have our patient in custody, Fillmore," he reported.  
  
"Great," came Fillmore's voice. "Is he awake yet?"  
  
"Yeah," Joseph replied. "But he's exhibiting some...ah, strange behavior."  
  
"Such as...?" questioned Ingrid's voice.  
  
"Acting angry at himself and trying to rip his hair out," Joseph answered nervously. "You'd think that he'd wanted to go flying out that window. When's the next interrogation?"  
  
"Scheduled two days from now at lunch hour," Fillmore replied. "Man, I hate it when I have to give up my lunch for creeps like him..."  
  
"You know that it's all for the best, Fillmore," Ingrid retorted. "Besides, half the time we're still on duty anyway."  
  
Joseph switched off the walkie-talkie to leave the two partners to argue. He needed to continue his observations, and the less distractions the better.  
  
*****  
  
Vallejo sat at his desk and flipped through Smith's papers (those of which Ingrid had been kind enough to print out for him and his lack of photographic memory). As he read the boy's records, he shook his head in disbelief. Why would a kid with such a good record suddenly go the other way like that?  
  
Before he could give it a second thought, however, the door to his office swung open and bounced off the wall. Thinking it was one of the Safety Patrollers, he looked up sharply from his work and was ready to tell them off. But instead of one of his sash-adorned comrades, there in the doorway stood Principal Folsom, holding a small china jar, accompanied with vice principal Raycliff.  
  
"Hello, Vallejo," Folsom greeted him in that drippy-honey voice of hers. "I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you and the rest of the officers have caught the culprit behind this bumper sticker ...ah, incident."  
  
"But, Principal Folsom," Vallejo began hurriedly, "we don't know if he was the one who—"  
  
"Have a cookie, Vallejo," Folsom interrupted, seating herself across from the jr. commissioner and opening the jar, revealing a batch of chocolate chip cookies.  
  
"Uh, no thank you Principal Folsom, I'm watching my—"  
  
"TAKE A COOKIE!"  
  
Vallejo quickly snatched a cookie out of the jar as Folsom's eyes took on a dangerous glint. "Sorry, Principal Folsom. Anyway, as I was saying, we haven't quite figured out if Smith was really behind all of this."  
  
"And what would make you think he wasn't, Vallejo?"  
  
"Well, for starters, the last thing he said was something about the heist not being about the bumper stickers," Vallejo answered. "It kind of gave us the idea that he might be working for the person who really was behind it all."  
  
"It gave you the idea, Vallejo?" Folsom glowered at the eighth grader behind the desk with a look of utter detest. "I don't want to hear about any ideas, Vallejo...I want to hear about your answers."  
  
"It's not that simple Principal Folsom," Vallejo insisted. "In order to find out who really did it we're going to need some evidence before pointing an accusing finger at anyone. Of course, if Smith really was working for the person who stole the bumper stickers, then we will take him into custody. But, in the meantime, he obviously knows something that we don't. As soon as we get it out of him, we'll all be one step closer to the thief and what he really wants."  
  
"This may sound somewhat astonishing, but I don't care about any step- by-step procedure that you Safety Patrollers use in order to solve an important case like this," Folsom retorted, gritting her teeth. "I want those bumper stickers to be recovered and that Smith kid in detention by the end of the month. If you don't solve this case by the deadline, then out goes the Safety Patrol and in comes the Quilting Club. Maybe you should join, Vallejo," she added. "You look like you have fingers fit for sewing."  
  
The principal got out of her chair and, taking the china jar with her, was escorted out of the room by Raycliff.  
  
Vallejo leaned back into his chair and crunched down on the cookie. He couldn't believe how stressful it had just become for him since the beginning of the case. He really hoped that the Safety Patrollers met the deadline, or maybe even solved it sooner, because the sooner it was over the better.  
  
*****  
  
A/N—4/4/04: Wow...that chapter took a long time to write. Anyway, I hope that you liked it and stuff...this was my first chapter writing from Vallejo's point of view. It's a little short, I guess, but I'm still planning on finishing this story soon! As soon as I finish this, I'll begin to work on—get this—a musical. I've already got the basic plot, but (unlike my sister Vicki), I tend to finish one story before starting another. Also, for you Wizard of Oz fans who are looking for something a little bit different, I'm starting a fanfic on that too. Well, that's all I gotta say for now... ~Teazer~ 


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: Plodding slowly through this story…anyway, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers (Observer, albe-chan, Toimarrie, Sorphedius, BunnyMoon3, and everyone else who might still be reading this). Anyone living in the Bay Area in California? It's about 95 degrees out here! Gahhh! Anyway, I'm hoping to get at least ten chappies into this story, but in the meanwhile, here's chapter seven! Woot!

*****

            Another day had passed, and with Valentines Day on the way and only a limited amount of time to recover the bumper stickers, find out what the culprit really wanted, and punish whoever it was, the members of the Safety Patrol were growing frantic. Even O'Farrell was working double time, taking pictures of the threatening note and, to Folsom's displeasure, pictures of the inside of her office and shipping rooms to try to spot any evidence at the crime scenes. (A/N: And no, I'm not implying that O'Farrell doesn't work hard enough. I'm just saying that he was doing more on his part than usual just like everyone else.) 

            "The four top students were allowed into Folsom's office to receive their awards," Ingrid informed Fillmore at their lunch table that afternoon. "We have three witnesses to tell us what they saw in the office the day of the heist: Jerry Christiansen, Otis McGraw, and our very own Linda Wincoff. If they can describe to us what exactly had happened with accurate detail and what they saw when the awards were brought in, we might gain some more evidence on who did it while we wait for Smith's interrogation tomorrow."

            "Good…" Fillmore replied, seeming to think over the information that his partner had given him. "Hey, why weren't you at her office to get your awards? You're the smartest kid in school."

            "Do you honestly think that I would waste my time to arrive early just to get a sticky piece of paper of which they call a real award?" Ingrid shot at him irritably. "It's not like I'm proud of being the smartest kid in school, Fillmore. I don't expect to get awarded for every math equation that I get right."

            "Point taken," said Fillmore. "Well, let's get started then. As Vallejo said, the sooner we get this over with the better. I'm not very fond of the idea to hand down our HQ to the same people who stitched that dog-ugly blanket last month."

            The two of them rose from their seats and quickly found Jerry Christiansen, who was seated at a table near the wide window. In his hand he held an economy-sized bag of black and white M&Ms. His red hair fell over his face and his freckles showed up vibrantly against his pale skin. Before the officers could whip out their badges, he regarded them coolly and poured a handful of M&Ms into his palm. "Ah, the beauty of the black and white crispy candies," he stated without looking up. "They symbolize serenity and togetherness. Like Ying and Yang. I suppose _you_ understand exactly what I mean," he added, rolling his eyes up to meet Ingrid's. Fillmore noticed her hand ball into a fist and her eyes narrow in fury at the mockery, so he quickly shot a look of warning to the female patroller and turned back to Jerry.

            "I'm Cornelius Fillmore, and this is my partner Ingrid Third," he said, the two of them withdrawing their badges and IDs. "We're from the Safety Patrol, and we'd like to ask you a few questions about the bumper sticker heist."

            "Shoot."

            "What is your side of the story about what happened in Folsom's office the day of the heist?" Fillmore probed. "How did you first find out that the stickers had been stolen?"

            "What is there to say?" Jerry asked casually. "They brought the box in, the awards were gone, and that's all I have to say on the subject. Candy?" he offered, holding out the M&Ms.

            "No thank you," Ingrid replied coldly.

            "Thanks for your time," Fillmore said, slightly disappointed. He and Ingrid left, not noticing the smirk now upon Jerry's face behind their turned backs.

            "Suckers."

*****

            "Linda Wincoff, ranking third out of the smartest four in school."

            Fillmore and Ingrid found Linda not far off from where Jerry sat at the window. She was gathered around the hallway with three other girls, chatting and helping themselves to some sort of stew from a large cooking pot. When the Safety Patrollers approached, Linda quickly set her bowl down and pushed her way to the front of the crowd. "Hi Ingrid!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Have you found the awards yet?"

            "That's just what we've come to ask you about," said Fillmore, stepping forward and displaying his badge for the girls to see. 

            Ingrid followed suit and began to question Linda. "What exactly happened when you found out about the heist?"

            "Wait a minute…you mean you _didn't_ find the awards?" Linda's eyes began to glimmer. "Oh, I don't know _what _I'm going to do when my parents find out that I don't have them…" A tear trickled down her cheek. She miserably wiped it away with her forefinger, while one of the other girls put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

            "No, we haven't found the awards, but if we can get more evidence then we'll have a better chance of finding them," Ingrid replied gently. "Now, would you mind answering our question?"

            "Well…" Linda pondered this in a brief moment of silence. "When they brought the box in and opened it, they realized that it was the awards were gone…"

            "Hold up," Fillmore interrupted. "You mean that they didn't notice that the awards were gone until the box was opened?"

            "Yeah, that's basically it," Linda sniffled.

            Suddenly Ingrid caught on. "You'd think that if the box was completely empty then they would notice the difference in weight while carrying it in. Was the box weighted down with anything?"

            Linda's eyes lit up. "As a matter of fact, it was. There were layers of old paper lining the box and it was about halfway full. When Folsom saw what was in the box she threw it all over the room."

            "What day of the week does Folsom shred her papers?" Fillmore demanded. (A/N: X Middle School—always has a scheduled date for everything.)

            "Wednesday, I believe."

            "Snap!" Fillmore cried out. "It _is _Wednesday! Ingrid, let's move!"

            Fillmore and Ingrid pushed past the girls blocking the doorway and bolted down the halls, hoping that they would reach Folsom's office in time.

*****

            Folsom leaned back into her massage chair and closed her eyes. She was practically in her own world now, a place where she would never be disturbed, even by the grinding and buzzing coming from the shredder while Raycliff fed papers into the slot. He was now coming down to the final papers…

            Just then the office door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud BANG! Fillmore and Ingrid flew into the room, lunging at the paper shredder. "Arrrrghh!!!" Fillmore yelled as he took a nosedive to the carpeted floor and took the shredder down in a full tackle, causing Raycliff to jump back in alarm. Ingrid crash-landed next to him and, grabbing the electrical cord with her two hands, yanked it towards herself roughly. Instead of the plug becoming dislodged from the outlet, the cord snapped right at the base of the plug. The machine slowly died, after it emitted one last _whirrrr._

            Fillmore wrestled the shredder to the ground, removed the lid, and dumped out its contents. Scraps of papers spilled out onto the neat carpet, and he rummaged through them with determination of finding clues of any kind. 

            "Fillmore…" Ingrid's voice came from somewhere behind him in a worried tone.  He suddenly noticed that there was a deathly still essence hanging over their heads and throughout the entire room. Slowly he looked upward to come face to face with a seriously pissed Principal Folsom.

            "What…have…you…DONE?!?!"

            "Principal Folsom…" Fillmore began shakily. "We were just—"

            "That was a $75 paper shredder!" Folsom exploded. "I don't know what you two think you're doing by barging in here and taking part in a massacre against my office supplies, but you know what? I don't want to know! Just get out, I've had quite enough of the Safety Patrol this…"

            "But Principal Folsom!" Fillmore panicked. "We needed to see the paper you were just going to shred!"

            "We think that we might find evidence," Ingrid added wistfully.

            "You think that…look, I would prefer it if you Safety Patrollers would take things a little bit more seriously," Folsom fumed. "I don't want to see anything of you until after Smith's next interrogation. If I catch you doing anything else like what just happened then you'll be in it so deep it's not going to be the least bit funny! Raycliff, show them the door."

            "It's over there," said Raycliff, gesturing to the office door. 

            Defeated, the two partners exited the room, leaving Folsom to return to her massage chair and Raycliff to finish off the rest of the papers with a pair of industrial scissors. 

*****

A/N: Okay, how about an award for the LAMEST ENDING TO A CHAPTER EVER?!?! I think I'm losing my touch. But anyway, if you could please answer this questionnaire in your review:

First of all, do you _like _this story? Any compliments or advice? If there were one thing you'd change about this story, what would it be? Lastly, if I would totally and completely change my writing style, would you kill me or not? 

Just a few questions so that I can get help on improving. Thank yous!

~Teaz~


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: Sorry this is short! I thought it would turn out longer...ah well, please read the chappie.

It was the day of the re-interrogation. Smith was being escorted by Fillmore and Ingrid into the gray, mirrored room at the back of the HQ and seated him at the table. They noticed that he didn't seem to feel as threatened as he did at the first interrogation; this time he looked solemn, as if he knew he was going to regret revealing the information he had been keeping secret for so long.

Once seated at the table, Smith raised his eyes to the two of them and murmured, "I'm ready to talk."

Ingrid hesitated briefly, wondering if the boy was for real. "Ok," she began. "The last time we talked you said something about the heist 'not being about the bumper stickers.' If that's true, then what _is _it about?"

Smith sighed. "If you want to know the whole truth, I guess I might as well start now so you'll be in time for lunch…

"I used to be a member of this club. I only joined it because I thought that it was just a group of friends that trade cards and stuff, but it was a lot more than that. This was a bunch of kids who valued power in huge doses. They were determined to gain control over all of the students at X, but I don't think any of the agents knew why.

"Oh, yeah…the founders of the club had hired agents. The agents were supposed to make sure that no one found out about the club until they gained full control of X and spread around evidence that there was someone around who would be everyone's ruler. I was an agent…but they considered me as something like an amateur, so they never let me in on any big plans. All they had me do was spread the evidence and perform minor jobs."

"They call stealing the entire school's supply of bumper stickers a minor job?" Fillmore asked quizzically.

"I didn't steal the bumper stickers…it was a bunch of other agents in the so-called 'upper-class'," Smith muttered. "I was stuck with the little jobs, like sliding that note under the door. But before that I had eventually found out what they were really trying to do."

"And what might that be?" Ingrid questioned.

Smith averted his eyes to the gray tabletop. "They're trying to steal the five thousand dollar reward to the school," he replied.

Fillmore and Ingrid exchanged glances. So that's what Smith had meant before. Of course they hadn't wanted the lousy bumper stickers—they were in for the cash. "Would you mind telling us where your club meets?" Ingrid prodded.

"Not like you have any choice or anything," Fillmore added swiftly.

"And not like I've got anything to lose." Smith sighed again, and slid a piece of paper with writing on it across the table. "It has the address of the clubhouse. But listen, do _not_ get caught going inside. They have the place wired, and believe me, you'd rather not like to know the reason why when most kids come in they don't come out."

After school that day Fillmore and Ingrid met at the front entrance. "The address is Sycamore Avenue," Ingrid informed her partner, reading off the paper. "Supposedly it's located a remote part of the neighborhood."

"So we'll probably have to look for it," Fillmore murmured. "Well, let's head out and find the clubhouse before it gets dark…"

The teens eventually reached Sycamore Avenue and once there the first thing they noticed was a large field of tall trees lined up at the end of the road. It looked as if a forest had once covered the entire area but the people who had built the houses had decided to leave that patch of wilderness where it stood.

"Now, who's betting that the clubhouse is somewhere in there?" Fillmore wondered aloud.

"Let's go," Ingrid urged.

Fillmore and Ingrid broke into a jog and sped towards the trees as fast as they could. After they made it past the first few trees they could see acres and acres of more trees ahead of them. "Ok…this will probably take a while," Ingrid muttered. "Should we call for backup?"

Fillmore shook his head. "Only if we really need them," he replied. "We could scope this area by ourselves easily."

Ingrid looked slightly defiant, but the two began searching anyway. They poked through the brush and greenery, looking for any evidence of a clubhouse or hideout.

It had been almost an hour when Ingrid, feeling tired and very dirty from practically sifting the dirt on the ground, noticed a wooden fence surrounding a large tree. Stumbling towards it as fast as she could without tripping over the underbrush, Ingrid peered up at the top of the tree to see a tree house perched upon the branches. "Fillmore!" she called excitedly. "I found it!"

Within seconds Fillmore was at her side. He looked up at the tree house, then at the tall fence. "Looks like we'll have to climb over it," he observed. "Let's go…"

The two of them ran to the fence and began to pull themselves up. But just when they reached the top a loud alarm suddenly ripped through the silence of the woods.

Fillmore panicked. "Jump to the other side!" he commanded. He and Ingrid dropped down to the other side of the fence, but just when they touched the ground it instantly caved from underneath them. After those few seconds they found themselves trapped in a tiger trap.

Ingrid felt something made of hard plastic bounce off the top of her head. She quickly recovered the object. "A cereal box motion detector," she muttered. "How quaint."

Fillmore stood up and looked up at the hole above them. "At least we got in," he stated. "All we have to do is get inside the clubhouse."

"Yeah…" Ingrid began; "But…how do we get out?"

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I had been working on finals at first but then a little while after vacation started I realized that I had to work on this fast! I think this chappie came out well—but tell me what you think.

Teaz


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Anyway, this chapter is longer than most of the others, so enjoy!

Fillmore stared up through the top of the pit as he pondered over how he and Ingrid were going to climb out. Ingrid had angrily slapped the plastic motion detector into the earthen ground and begun to examine her side of the pit. After about five minutes Fillmore sighed and turned to Ingrid.

"I think the only way to get out is to climb out," he stated. "You can climb onto my shoulders and I'll push you up…and do you think you can pull me up from there?"

"Of course," Ingrid replied quickly. "Let's get out of here."

Ingrid then climbed onto Fillmore's shoulders as gently as she could, despite the fact that she was wearing a dress (A/N: but otherwise didn't have much trouble because, as she had mentioned before, he's only four feet tall. =0) ) Once Fillmore had hoisted her over the edge of the pit, she reached down as far as she could without falling back in and took hold of his wrists. Wincing as she strained against his weight, she pulled him up as hard as she could manage while he locked his feet against the dirt wall and climbed up to the top as fast as he could.

Fillmore swiped the bits of filth off of his shirtfront and said to Ingrid, "Well, the clubhouse is straight ahead. Let's be on our guard and be careful so we don't get caught. We need to catch whoever's in charge here."

Without another word the two of them proceeded towards the treehouse.

**Inside the Clubhouse Office**

The dark figure belonging to Sticky Fingers tapped his fingers against the top of his desk as he surveyed the two Safety Patrollers from the window of the treehouse. "They shouldn't have gotten that far!" Sticky spat angrily to Scissorblade as he spun around in his chair to face him. "If that pit was as foolproof as you had told me it was then they would be stuck there until they die from starvation and unclensliness!"

Scissorblade took half a step back in fear of his master's rising temper. "I'm sure it's nothing our agents can't stop, Sticky Fingers…"

"Good idea," Sticky muttered, picking up a cheap black walkie talkie from the desk. He flipped the switch on and began to talk to the recipient agent. Behind him Scissorblade sighed in relief.

**Back to our heros...**

Ingrid had already found the rope ladder leading to the top of the tree and she and Fillmore were now progressing to the top. Fillmore looked over his shoulder and down to the ground, already three quarters of the way up. Suddenly he saw something move out of the corner of his eye and his head snapped around as he tried to see what it was. He could've sworn that he'd seen something move in that patch of shrubs…

"Fillmore, what did you stop for?" came Ingrid's voice from below him.

Fillmore snapped out of his somewhat-trance and turned his glance back up at the entryway to the clubhouse. "Nothing…I just thought I saw something down there…but it was nothing. Let's go…"

Less than a minute afterward they reached the top of the treehouse. The two of them surveyed the room they were in closely; it was rather dark, with only a few dull flashlights set in the corners for light. But of what they could see there were several rows of cardboard boxes lined up along the walls and above that was a wooden rack holding eight metal rods. On the other side of the room there was another doorway leading to a hall the branched off to more rooms. The clubhouse was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Fillmore made his way towards the boxes while Ingrid came up from behind, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone who would want to attack the officers. Fillmore ripped one of the boxes open and was greeted by the sight of piles of neatly stacked bumper stickers that read, "My Child is an Honor Roll Student at X Middle School".

"Well," Fillmore said, setting the box back down on the floor. "Smith was telling the truth. Too bad he's serving a week of suspension for doing the right thing for once."

"Yeah, too bad," Ingrid replied distractedly. "Wait…do you hear something?"

Fillmore spun around to face the entryway to the treehouse. Sure enough, he could hear the sound of someone scrabbling up the ladder.

"Stay there," Fillmore hissed to his partner. "I'm going to check this out."

Cautiously he began to approach the entryway as silently as he possibly could. The scrabbling sound was becoming louder every second. "Fillmore," Ingrid called from behind him, "stay on your—" Suddenly she was cut off.

The air was briefly filled with a dark, stiff silence. "Ingrid?" Fillmore said worriedly. Slowly he turned around. One of the metal rods from the rack was gone and was now in the hands of a tall, muscular boy, who was pressing it against Ingrid's throat. Ingrid's eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open; she seemed to be in shock.

"Ingrid!" Fillmore cried out. He was about to rush to her aide when suddenly another metal rod reached around him from behind and stopped him by his throat. The metal was chillingly cold against his skin.

"You've been stupid, coming here tonight," an all-too-familiar voice hissed in his ear. "There's no wonder why you didn't make the honor roll top four."

**Inside the Clubhouse Office**

"Have the agents caught up to them yet, Scissorblade?" Sticky Fingers drawled.

"Yes they have, Sticky," Scissorblade replied quickly. "The best of the lot, out there to stop 'em…"

"Perfect," Sticky murmured, fingering the blade of a pair of scissors. He tossed them to Scissorblade, who caught them rather messily. "Guard the office. I've been watching those two, and they both have the material to get farther than they already are…especially the girl. I would rather not take the risk of leaving the top level of the treehouse unguarded."

"Of course, Master!" Scissorblade exclaimed, obediently backing up toward the door. "That's really clever of you, Master, really clever, I won't let them get past my scissors—"

"Go, already!" Sticky Fingers commanded, casting a plastic pencil sharpener at Scissorblade. His strongest agent quickly abandoned the room and shut the door tightly, ready to guard his master with his life.

**At the Main Entryway**

"At least I'm not stupid enough to attempt to steal five thousand dollars from the leading school in the district…" Fillmore retorted as he grasped the rod gingerly with his fingers, "…Linda Wincoff."

"We have good reasons to steal the money!" Linda declared. "And if you think that we're going to allow a pair of _imbecilic _Safety Patrollers stop us, then you're wrong! Let's take 'em in to the boss, Jerry."

Christiansen nodded, still keeping his metal rod close to Ingrid's throat. Suddenly, he cried out as Ingrid jabbed him hard in the stomach with her elbow. He dropped his weapon and recoiled, clutching himself where he had been hit. Ingrid caught the metal rod in her own hands and wielded it at Linda.

"Jerry, you _nimrod!_" Linda yelled with a mixture of dismay and anger. "Grab her!"

Christiansen obediently attempted to catch Ingrid by the shoulders, but she swiftly dodged his hands and brought the rod down on his arm as hard as she could. Christiansen let out another howl of pain and allowed her to run out of his grabbing range and toward Fillmore and Linda. "Let him go," Ingrid snapped at Linda.

"As if!" Linda snorted. "You may have beaten Jerry, but if you think I'm going to let you get past me then you're wrong!"

But just as suddenly as Ingrid had gotten Christiansen to release her, Fillmore ripped Linda's weapon from her grip, spun around, and smashed the rod against the top of Linda's head. She yelped and took a step back—but she had run out of floor. Her foot fell, taking the rest of her with it, and she gave one last scream as she toppled outside.

**Inside the Clubhouse Office**

Scissorblade burst into the office once again, brandishing his scissors. An audible sigh was heard from Sticky's chair. "What is it now?"

"Master, the Safety Patrollers are really strong! They've knocked out Christiansen and threw Wincoff out the door!"

"Is Wincoff dead?"

"No sir, but she is caught in the ladder! She's tangled up really bad, and it's not likely that she's going to be able to make it back up there in time."

Sticky Fingers spun his chair around to face his accomplice. "We'll have to send everyone down there to fight them off. They can't possibly make it the rest of the way if they are outnumbered."

"Brilliant plan, Master!" Scissorblade gushed. "You are a _genius!_"

"I did make it to honor roll, didn't I? Now stop stating the obvious and stop those Safety Patrollers!"

"I'm on it, Sticky!" Scissorblade hurriedly exited the room.

**The Main Entryway**

"Seven!" Ingrid dropped another bumper sticker out the door. It fell and hit Linda in the face as she let out cries of indignance and protest. "Eight!" Ingrid dropped another sticker.

The sticker landed in Linda's mouth. She growled and tossed her head from side to side, trying to spit out the sticker as her hands were caught in the rope ladder. When she had finally managed her goal, she glared up at the female Safety Patroller. "You quit that and help me up!" she commanded angrily, writhing against the rope ladder's bonds. "If you're such a good person then you'll help me!"

"No can do, Linda," Ingrid replied, thoroughly enjoying herself. "You lied to us…and now you're paying the price."

"We'll be off to confront your master and put a stop to this operation now," Fillmore informed the helpless girl cheerfully.

"You won't make it past the first floor!" Linda declared, still struggling to free herself safely. "The master has many allies, and together they'll be able to stop you!"

"We'll just have to see about that by ourselves," said Ingrid, being completely unfazed by Linda's threats.

A/N: Sorry about the awkward ending. I just wanted to end it here; otherwise the last chapter would be incredibly short. =0) So, tell me what you think!

Teazer


	10. Finale: Part One

A/N: So, I've decided to instead of writing only one finale chapter, I would divide it into two (readable) parts.

Hmm…Okay, I've decided on whom to dedicate this to! This chapter is dedicated to my parents/dogs, Vicki, SnowBunny90, and Presto (who's probably never heard of this cartoon series in her life but she's still cool so I'm dedicating it to her. :0) )

**The Main Hall**

Fillmore and Ingrid started to travel down the hallway, keeping themselves alert in case of an ambush. They were almost certain that they were headed towards the second floor; after all, the hallway was only going in one direction. Still, they were well aware of all of the doors branching out left and right and what could possibly jump out and attack them.

Behind him Fillmore could hear Linda's lingering screams continue to penetrate the cool evening air the filled the tree house. He dreaded that they might arouse the rest of the honor roll students and bring them straight to Ingrid and him. But no one had come so far, so maybe they had a chance…

_Crack._

Fillmore and Ingrid whipped around and looked back down the hallway toward where the sound had come from. Fillmore narrowed his eyes as he searched for the source of the sound, but he found nothing. _It must've been some of the tree branches outside…cracking. _Yeah, right. He couldn't even convince himself that that was what it was.

_Crack._

Another persistent crack cut through the air like a knife. Fillmore continued to watch the non-existent events going on in the hallway, as if he would get an answer just by doing that…

**Outside the Treehouse: Rope Ladder**

"Hurry up and cut me loose!" Linda ordered. A male agent was hanging onto the rope ladder for dear life as he attempted to hack away the rope bonds that held Linda hostage. The boy hurriedly made pitiful attempts to cut through the ropes, but to no avail. The ropes held tight and simply refused to unravel. But while the agent continued to hack, the rope would emit loud _cracks _as the threads broke.

Linda was becoming more and more impatient. She willed to be free faster than how the boy could grant her wishes. Not only was she in a very uncomfortable position, but she also had to deal with at least ten black-clad boys and girls climbing over her and through the doorway to the entrance hall…

**The Main Hall**

"Maybe we should start looking for more staircases," Fillmore suggested. It may have sounded like a ridiculous idea, but as a detective, he needed to keep an eye out for any possible way that could lead him to the culprit. Fillmore was clearly thinking that the treehouse could be built to fool any intruders looking for the head of the operation. After all, highly intelligent and cunning people had constructed it.

Ingrid sensed this and nodded; she had been thinking the same thing. She spotted a door in the wall, camouflaged cleverly by the wood it had been made of. After quickly informing Fillmore where she was going, she opened the door and slid into the once concealed hallway.

Fillmore pressed the palms of his hands against the opposite wall, searching for another door. He wondered how the agents to remember where all the doors in the treehouse were; it was extremely difficult trying to find them.

_Crack._

There it was again. The cracking noise was ringing through his ears…

_Crack. _

There was nothing more annoying than that sound! It just kept cracking and cracking, repeating itself over and over in his mind…his was becoming dizzy, and he was becoming more and more confused as the horrid sound continued…he was overwhelmed by how hypnotic the sound was becoming, as the room around him became stuffier and stuffier and the cracking got ever so louder…almost as loud as the crack that sounded when a large metal something made harsh contact with the back of his head…

Fillmore came crashing to the ground as the hypnotic sounds came to an abrupt stop. Clutching the back of his head in agony, he looked up to see a black-clad girl standing over him brandishing a shining metal tube, much like the ones Fillmore had seen hanging on the rack in the main entryway. Behind her five boys and four other girls aided her. The girl grinned sinisterly as she looked him over in a vulnerable position. "Thought that after you'd taken care of Wincoff and Christiansen, you'd be able to go home free, didn't you?" She smirked. "You tend to make stupid assumptions."

Fillmore found that he himself had to agree. It was too obvious.

"All right," he muttered. "You've convinced me. This place is obviously too well-guarded for two Safety Patrol officers to get through without getting caught."

The girl smirked again. "I'm glad that we've finally come to an understanding." She extended an arm to help Fillmore up. "Now if you'd allow me to escort you to the exit, I would be eternally grateful."

"Whatever you say," Fillmore replied reluctantly. He allowed the girl to take hold of his arm and lift him to his feet. The girl and her colleagues then began to lead him back to the main entryway, but they had only gone a few steps before Fillmore had suddenly and sharply kicked the female agent in the shin. Howling in pain, she dropped her weapon to grab her injury. Fillmore whipped the metal rod out of the air as it fell and wielded it in front of him, for the other agents had reacted quickly and sprang at him with their own weapons high in the air.

Two boys aimed at his head at once with their metal rods, but Fillmore caught his metal rod in between them and kicked one of the attackers in the stomach, sending the agent across the hall and against the wall. The other boy attempted to hit Fillmore again, but he wasn't fast enough. Fillmore caught the metal rod that the boy had flung at him in the palm of his left hand, and slammed his first weapon against the boy's face. The boy stumbled backward as blood streamed out of his nose and seeped between his lips; he then collapsed, hitting his head on the floor. Four more attackers (one of which the girl who had hit him over the head) rounded on him. Fillmore took several hits to the head, stomach, and arms as he fought them off. He hit another girl in the cheek with such force that she fell onto the boy next to her. The two of them fell to the floor, unconscious, and caused the treehouse walls to rattle. The second boy in the group of four began to continuously hit him in the cheek. Fillmore retaliated by swing his rod hard at the agent's stomach. The boy bent over in pain, giving Fillmore the opportunity to kick his legs out from under him and make him fall over. Three other female agents and the last remaining boy aided the leading girl. All five of them swung their rods at Fillmore at once, but Fillmore ducked down to the floor and spun around in a full circle with his right leg extended. His foot kicked the agents' legs out from under them and they crashed headfirst into the walls. They slumped down to the floor, seemingly lifeless.

Fillmore shakily got up and surveyed the hallway. Ten unconscious teenage bodies lay scattered on the floor. Fillmore decided that it was time to go, before the agents could regain consciousness. But before he reached the end of the hallway, he turned around to get one last look of the scene. He smiled to himself. It was just like how a massacre should look like.

**Inside the Clubhouse Office**

Sticky Fingers heard an array of eager knocks against the office door. He sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration; why couldn't he get a moment of peace in his own clubhouse? Despite his exasperation, Sticky Fingers decided to give in to the knocking. "Whoever it is come in already," he called out. "This had better be important."

Instantly the door flew open and agent Scissorblade flew into the room, bursting with excitement and pride. "Sticky, you'll never guess what just happened!" he chortled.

Sticky Fingers sighed again. "I'm afraid I shouldn't. Why don't you just tell me?"

Scissorblade couldn't seem to detect the sarcasm in his boss's voice, because he rambled right on. "We've captured one of the Safety Patrollers, Sticky! She's in the dungeon room right this very minute!"

That was enough to get Sticky's attention. Immediately he spun his swivel chair around to face Scissorblade. "You have? She? My goodness, you've actually done something useful today! How the hell did you capture her?"

"We found her wandering around alone in the game room. We think that she was looking for another staircase or something to lead her to your office…"

"Idiot, she could've just gone up the grand staircase at the end of the hall…she's been tied down safely, right?"

"Of course, sir! I knocked her unconscious, and she hasn't woken up yet. Oliver and Fred are guarding the door, making sure that her partner doesn't come and try to free her."

Sticky Fingers spun his chair back around to face the window so Scissorblade couldn't see the expression of maniacal glee on his face. _I've got you now, Ingrid Third,_ he thought. _And your little friend, too._

**End of Finale, Part One.**

A/N: That's all for the time being. I've already got pretty much the entire finale planned out, so I _should_ have that up soon (faster than how this chapter came up, at least). Anyway, I hope that you liked it…


	11. Finale: Part Two

A/N: 10/17/04: Huzzah! I actually started this chapter a few days ago! I'm on a roll! Hehehe… Hmm, how about a few words of acknowledgment to the reviewers first before I continue with the FINAL CHAPTER! Woohoo!

Snowbunny/Chibi-Chibi-Moon/FillmoreFan234: Thanks for your reviews, especially those from Snowbunny! You people really know how to encourage a person to write. Thanks guys!

StarStar16: Thanks for your reviews! I've found out that you've been chatting with Vicki on Ekaphant's board…I'll tell her to tell you that I say hi! Wait a minute, if you're actually reading this then…hi!

Albe-chan: You're a great person too! But my stupid computer won't let me spell your name correctly…

Observer: Folsom can be mean and get anyone to take anything. I'm glad that you enjoyed my Vallejo-centered scene!

Aquamirajie-Tararei: You are crazy! Sheep aren't bovine, they're ovine! :0)

Mr. Big Fish: Glad you enjoyed! (sorry, running out of things to say…)

Rinne: Thanks sooo much for your support in that review! Fillmore fans rule (along with CATS fans!)!

DataFour: Erm…even though it was hard to read your review, thanks! And about the torture device, you'll find out about it in this chapter (if you're still reading this, that is)

And finally, Just A Hint: Thanks for being the first reviewer of Dishonor Roll!!!

**The Dungeon Room**

Ingrid slowly came out of unconsciousness; her eyesight was blurred and she could feel a distinct throbbing pain at the top of her head. It took a few seconds before she realized that she wasn't standing on the ground. Instead she could feel what seemed to be a table tennis table missing the short net against her back. It had been propped up against and anchored to the wall, and four pairs of handcuffs had been cleverly fastened to the table and then locked around her wrists and ankles. These kept her suspended in the air, about half a foot above the ground. The handcuffs also confined and limited how much she could move, which irritated her.

She moaned as the pain in her head became more intense. It was making it hard for her to concentrate on her surroundings. From what she could see was that she was in a completely empty room besides another table tennis table set up in the same fashion as the one she was attached to, and inferring from the tiny window on the wall to her right she was on the second floor of the clubhouse. On the wall to the left of her was a simply made door.

Ingrid tried to remember how she had gotten here…her photographic memory was useless once she had been unconscious. All she could remember was that she had been wandering around an old foosball table when someone had leapt out at her and collided something hard and metallic against her head. Because she had been caught off guard and slow to react, the blow must have instantly knocked her out. Well, then. Chances are the agent who had assaulted her had carried her here.

Ingrid's thoughts were interrupted when the door opened, allowing a small amount of light to enter the room. It was a tall and burly seventh grade boy, and with him he held a small pair of scissors. "Sticky Fingers is here to see you, Third," the boy announced. He stepped to the side, allowing a shorter boy to enter the room.

"You wouldn't believe how much I have longed for a moment like this, Ingrid," said the newer boy, stepping close enough for Ingrid to see his features and recognize him.

"Oh my god," Ingrid gasped. "What the heck are _you _doing here?"

**The Grand Staircase**

Fillmore climbed the staircase cautiously, looking up into the darkened depths of the second floor. Behind him lay the results of the recent battle; the unconscious bodies were strewn across the hallway like an array of rag dolls.

He quickly reached the top of the stairs, only to be greeted by a new hallway of closed doors. Looking into one door, he could only see an old moth-eaten couch with a pile of moldy pizza boxes accompanying it. In another room all that was inside were a battery operated TV with a game cube. In the next room there was simply a row of four holes in the floor. At first Fillmore couldn't figure out what they were four…but that was before he noticed a roll of toilet paper at the end of the row.

_Aw, dawg…_Fillmore quickly shut the door.

The treehouse was like a maze; there were misleading hallways and dead-ends everywhere. Fillmore decided that the office would most likely be located at the top of the treehouse, because if it were so well-guarded the office should be at the farthest point from the entrance.

**The Dungeon Room **

The boy standing in front of Ingrid had oily auburn-brown hair, and his yellow front teeth were adorned with a row of metal braces…

"Otis?!"

A sinister grin crept across the boy's face, revealing his braces further. "I see that you remember me, Ingrid," he commented.

Ingrid was speechless. This can't be right, she decided. He didn't come all the way over here to find me…

"I've missed you so much, Ingrid." Otis's voice reached her ears as he approached her, and she couldn't stop him when he laced his arms around her waist. "It has certainly been too long for me to bear not having you around to cause trouble with."

Ingrid realized that she should've found him sooner, at school; he was the second smartest student in school! Why didn't she notice that he went to X before? Why hadn't his name become familiar to her until now?

"Do you know what my plan is, Ingrid?" Otis asked her, his voice slightly muffled as he buried his face into Ingrid's side.

"You want to steal the reward money from the school," Ingrid replied stonily. She didn't like that he was getting so close to her—her waist tingled with the feeling of being infected by Otis's touch.

"Precisely." Otis smirked before finally withdrawing himself from Ingrid. "As this club is specifically made of honor roll students, we've all decided that since we are the smartest, wittiest students in X, we deserve the benefit of the money. Don't you agree?"

Ingrid glared down at the boy. "No," she snapped. "No, I don't agree. That money went to the school and was supposed to be used to benefit the entire school with classroom supplies and new renovations"—_Whether we needed them or not, _Ingrid commented mentally—"not for a large group of dishonest children to steal and use to buy gum and comic books. You all should be ashamed of yourselves!" she declared.

"Well, I'm sorry to say that we aren't," said Otis coolly. "We simply deserve what we want for being better than anyone else. I don't see why a load of ignorant slackers should receive so much money for not performing their best in their schoolwork." For a moment Otis looked slightly upset. "You used to agree with me on a lot of things, Ingrid. What happened?"

"Those days are over, Otis!" Ingrid hissed. She hated to think of her elementary school days before she moved, when she used to wreck havoc on the school grounds with Otis as her accomplice. The two had a history of being the smartest yet most difficult students in the district…but when Ingrid had discovered Otis's plans to overcome Ingrid and control their operations, she immediately went solo. But now things were different. "I've gone straight, I want to stop you, and you're not my friend anymore!" Ingrid proclaimed. "Now if you were smart you'd let me out of this deathtrap and allow me to escort you to the school campus."

But Otis simply glowered at her. "For your information, I am smart. Smart enough not to let you free and spoil my plan…_beltie._" He spat out the last word like a curse. Then he walked back to the burly boy by the door. "Escort me to my office, Scissorblade," Otis commanded. "We shall give Third a little bit of time to think about the situation…and make the right decision, no doubt. Come along, then." And the boy called Scissorblade walked him out of the door before slamming and locking it.

Ingrid groaned as she relaxed her arms and legs, which she had absentmindedly tightened while she was talking to her long-lost accomplice. Now the chains slackened and she simply hung there, not sure that she would see daylight any time soon.

**The Second Floor Hallway**

Fillmore had long since realized that Ingrid was missing. He worried for her safety, as she was as alone as he was in the tree house, but he tried to rest assured that she could make it on her own. _She's strong enough,_ Fillmore consoled himself. _If there's anyone who can outsmart a pack of honor roll students, it's Ingrid. _He repeated this to himself over and over so that he could concentrate on finding the office.

In the hallway there was a row of doors on each side of the hall, and at the end of the hall there was a large window overlooking the trees outside. He walked to the window and looked outside—noticing part of a room jutting out of the wall above the window. He quickly went to the door to his left, and sure enough there was a staircase leading upward and to the room. Feeling relieved, Fillmore traveled along the stairs.

At the top of the staircase there was a well-constructed mahogany door, with a large brass doorknob. Fillmore took the doorknob in his hand, twisted it, and allowed himself into the room.

There was a small window on the wall on the other side of the room, and underneath it was a small desk. There was an array of framed honor roll certificates nailed onto the surrounding walls…and all of them were awarded to one Otis McGraw. Some of them were from schools out of state. Fillmore noticed a medium-sized silver key on the desk, and upon thinking that it could turn out to be useful, he picked it up and slid it into his pocket.

Fortunately the culprit had been discovered—but unfortunately he wasn't present. Fillmore left all of the other stuff in the room untouched, but exited the office quietly and closed the door with a click. He would have to find Otis and Ingrid elsewhere.

**The Dungeon Room**

Ingrid had fought against the chains with an effort to make them go loose, but to no avail. But she couldn't seem to accept the fact that she had finally been defeated. Now she struggled as hard as ever. Because if she had been able to do anything before…why stop now?

**Outside of the Dungeon Room **

Fillmore was running back down the hallway he came from and checking out all of the doors. He found one that led to another hallway leading downward, and began to follow it. When he reached a corner, he heard voices, and immediately brought himself to a halt.

"How long are we going to leave her in there, Sticky?"

"As long as it takes. I am less than willing to set a capture free when she has the full capability of giving away my master plan to the authorities."

There was an uneasy pause.

"But weren't you two friends in elementary school?" asked the first boy's voice cautiously.

"That was then, and this is now," the second boy's voice insisted sourly. "She's changed her ways, and there's nothing that I can do about it."

Fillmore quietly looked around the corner to survey the setting situation. The two boys, one quite tall and one quite short, were standing in front of a small door at the end of a short, narrow hallway. _This just might work…_

He could see the shorter boy, otherwise the second speaker, talking again. "To tell the truth Scissorblade, I'm not quite sure about when we should set her free. She could still rat us out when the job is done as well. Maybe we could turn Ingrid into a full member, and gradually get her to realize that she deserves that money as much as the rest of us do."

_They have Ingrid!_

Fillmore leapt around the corner and in front of the other two boys and snatched his badge out of his pocket. "That won't be necessary, _Otis_. Cornelius Fillmore, X Middle School Safety Patrol!"

Otis sputtered with rage as he turned to his counterpart. "I thought that the agents had gotten rid of him! You said that you made sure of that!"

"I couldn't help it! The guy's all powerful and stuff…"

"You don't deserve to be on the honor roll list!" Otis spat.

"Excuse me boys," Fillmore interrupted. "Allow me to handcuff you now…otherwise it might get ugly."

As the hallway was so narrow, there were no means of escape. Fillmore took out two pairs of handcuffs and fastened them around both of the culprits' pairs of wrists. "Now I would appreciate it if you told me where my partner is," Fillmore added.

"She's in that room!" Scissorblade replied instantly as he gestured behind him with his head.

Otis glowered at his accomplice, then grinned sinisterly at Fillmore. "Even though you know where she is, you'd have to have the key. And the only spare key I have is in my office, and you don't know where that is located, do you?"

Fillmore removed the silver key from his pocket and displayed it in the middle of his palm. "You do mean this key, right?"

Otis didn't say anything. He simply wore an expression of shock and disbelief upon his face.

**Safety Patrol HQ**

"Aaannnd a hhhaaaapyyy Vallleennntiiinne's Daaaayyy tooooo YOOOOUUU!!! YO!"

Ingrid groaned as the barbershop quartet serenaded her with the fifth singing Valentine she had received from Checkmatey at her desk that day. She politely thanked the quartet, but after they left she ripped the Valentine in half and cast it into her wastebasket.

"Someone's in love with you," Fillmore teased Ingrid. He sat on his own chair, which he had rolled over to the other side of her desk next to her computer. She returned his remark with an annoyed glare. "Shut up. You know that I hate Checkmatey."

"But you could break his heart if you didn't send him a Valentine back, yo!" Fillmore insisted with a mock swoon.

"Then you send a Valentine to him," Ingrid replied.

It was Valentine's Day, the Monday following the day they explored the tree house. All of the agents had been caught and suspended, because when their leader had been stopped they had to follow. Even though this was a great accomplishment by the two Safety Patrollers, they hadn't been given much of a reward, with the exception of having their badges given a free wax and shine. However, it was a victorious week for the Safety Patrol. Vallejo was in a particularly joyful mood, for the HQ wasn't to be converted into anything and he treated everyone to a cup of cocoa to celebrate. "It's a special occasion," the cocoa-draining Vallejo informed Fillmore and Ingrid. Then he had added, "This is just about the best thing you've ever done for me. I'm proud of the both of ya."

Folsom had announced over the loudspeaker that morning what had happened and named the entire club who had made the attempt to steal the money. Then she did the unthinkable; she publicly thanked the Safety Patrol and said that the officers were to have a table reserved just for them in the Cafetorium, and free head-of-the-line passes.

Before school Ingrid had seen Linda as well as three other agents being escorted in orange uniforms to Randal the Vandal's former delinquent suite. While they passed each other Linda had given her the dirtiest look, but her escorts had kept her walking to the large brick building. Ingrid could hardly remember the time when she first met Linda, when she seemed to be an innocent suspect.

But she certainly didn't care, or anyone else on the Force for that matter. Because as far as they all were concerned, the case was finally solved.

**_THE END_**

A/N: Well, that's it for Dishonor Roll. I've had a great time writing this…and I hope that you all like it while it lasted. :0)

Peace,

Rumpelteazer


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